Garduth leaned over the metal
counter, left hand bracing his right forearm for steadiness as he piped drops
of virus serum into the array of one hundred vials. One to ten across, with ten
different antidote bases. He paused after the fifth row and leaned the pipette
into its stand, stretching his arms overhead, rotating his wrists and flexing
his fingers.
Ghods, I hope one of these works, he thought.
“Halfway done,” he said aloud to
Sheria, sitting at her own station across the lab. Even though she had been
promoted to lab chief, she didn’t slack off her own research, spending more
time in the lab than any of the others. Garduth had never had a boss who worked
harder than he did.
“Good,” she said, in a deeper voice
than usual. Something in her tone made Garduth look closer. She had already
been sitting there when he arrived five hours ago. He didn’t think she’d taken
a break in all that time. Her walking staff leaned against the tables edge, and
she sat on a custom-cushioned high stool that no one ever usurped from her.
Her black hair was neatly braided
to the small of her back. Watching her now, Garuth realized it was coiled
around her head at least twice before the base of the braid. He wondered how
long it really was, and what it would look like swinging free. Shaking his
head, he smiled to himself. Sheria was friendly, polite—and distant to
everyone. Best not to start fantasizing
about the boss, he chided himself.
Would he have noticed if he hadn’t
been watching her so closely? He didn’t think she made a sound, but her back
suddenly curved and her head dropped down onto her forearms, then she slumped
onto the counter. Gareth jumped from his stool and ran to her side.
“Sheria, are you okay?” He put a
hand on her shoulder and jerked it away. He could feel her temperature spiking
through her clothes and lab coat. This could be bad. They dealt with so many
dangerous viruses and microbes. The Tandemkopf biofilters were legendary, but
what if hers had failed?
He was about to hit the emergency
alarm, when she shook her head slightly and stretched out her right hand toward
him, still resting against the table. Her voice had a rough, gravelly edge as
she whispered, “No, it’s nothing new. I’m sorry. You’re not in any danger. I’m
sorry…”
Sorry for what? He wondered as he put his hand back on her
shoulder, stunned at the heat pouring from her skin. This was a dangerous
temperature spike—
Dogs in House
|
Houdini
|
Music
|
Earl Klugh, Hand
Picked
|
Time writing
|
~80 minutes
|
May word
count
|
11,094
|
No comments:
Post a Comment